Who-o-o Are You?

Thought for the day: I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific. [Lily Tomlin]

Is humanity suffering from an identity crisis? Do people spend entirely too much time navel-gazing... because they're trying to find themselves? To define themselves and their identities?

Beats me. I've never seen the attraction of staring at my belly, and as I've gotten older (and it's gotten larger) the idea holds even less appeal. Besides, my belly button is utterly clueless. If I were to do some gazing, the only thing I'm likely to find is a little bit of lint. Maybe yours is smarter.

Dontcha love this picture? It's my daughter and her husband, who as you could probably guess, is of Scottish descent. I guess it's fair to say his Scottish heritage is part of his identity.

But suppose he sent a sample of his DNA in for testing, and the results said his ancestors were actually from... Germany?

Would that change who he is?

[image courtesy of morguefile]

Would he, his brother and father have to trade in their kilts for... lederhosen?

That's what the people on those annoying DNA-testing commercials say...  one guy on there spent his entire life dancing in costume as a member of one ethnic group, but now that his DNA test results claim he's from an entirely different ethnic background, he's prepared to trade in his long-held identity for a new one.

I say... why???

We have a friend who has always identified with his Cherokee Indian background. So much so, he has a big beautiful tepee and an authentic Cherokee deerskin outfit, and with lovely flute music playing softly in the background, he would sit in his tepee and tell wonderful Cherokee Indian tales to paying customers.

As a gift, his wife recently gave him one of those DNA-testing kits, and guess what? According to the results, he doesn't have a single drop of Indian blood. He's English.

So should he trade in his deerskins for a bowler hat?

Again, I say... why???

I'm surprised DNA-testing has become so popular, but I personally think it's foolish to alter one's sense of identity based on the results. It might be a tad interesting to discover one's roots, even if they were planted hundreds of years ago in a country you've never seen, but how much does that past narrative relate to who you are today? Is your identity defined by someone else's life?

Heck no. I think not. My identity is defined by MY life and MY experiences. How about you? I suspect you agree with me, but after seeing so many stupid commercials about people who are embracing a new concept of self based on those arguably imperfect tests, I wanted to vent a little. (Whew! I feel much better now. Thanks!)

Here's a poem I wrote for the book Old Broads Waxing Poetic. It tells you...

                                                        Who I Am

I am from yesterday; from people, places, and times gone by; from sad memories that sear my soul, and joyous ones that make me sing.

I am from ocean, bay, river and creek; from Old Bay seafood seasoning, blue crabs, and homemade bread pudding made with stale white bread and rum-soaked raisins.

I am from a row house on a postage stamp lot in a noisy kid-filled neighborhood; from a tiny room with paper-thin walls that kept no secrets and hid no cries; from a window fan that sucked in stifling air that smelled like dog mess and flower gardens.

I am from hula hoops and bob-a-loops, hopscotch, and hot pink handlebar streamers; from roller skating in the street, jumping rope in the alley, and shooting beer bottles in the woods with a borrowed BB gun.

I am from dandelions and daisies, Black-eyed Susans, and sweet blankets of deep pink wild roses; from soil as dark as coffee grounds, fat earthworms wriggling on a fishhook, and fireflies twinkling in a jelly jar covered with a nail-punched lid.

I am from parents without sense of direction, pseudo-stern grandparents, and silly aunts; from cousins who were friends, and friends who were lifesavers.

I am from singing: with Mitch Miller, in cars, in bars, and around campfires with guitars and bongo drums; from books and more books, Scrabble, and crossword puzzles; from Pinochle, pitching pennies, and penny ante poker; from frantic footraces to the mailbox at the end of the street.

I am from today; from husband, children, and the best grandchildren in the world; from embracing new adventures and making new memories that make my heart sing.

I am wife, mother, and oh-so-silly grandmother, with cousins who are still friends, and friends who are still lifesavers; from red clay, dogwood trees and azaleas; from a modest home on a good-sized lot in a quiet neighborhood; from Old Bay seafood seasoning, blue crabs, and bread pudding made with cinnamon swirl raisin bread, and smothered in caramel rum sauce.

I am from books and more books, writing and more writing, crossword puzzles, Scrabble, and Suduko; from shooting bull’s-eyes out of targets at the gun club, and walking leisurely to the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

I am from yesterday; I am from today, just an updated still-singing version of the old-fashioned me… and exactly where I’m supposed to be.

                                    *****************************************

And NO DNA test would ever... could ever... change me into someone I'm not. It might provide some surprises... but I'd still reserve the right to be myself. After all, it took me a long time to get here. (Unless, of course, I'm from another planet. Come to think of it, that would explain a lot...)

How about you? Can you think of anything in particular that helps define your identity? 

                              

                            Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other. 

                                                                    

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Thought for the day: The only journey is the one within.  [Rainer Maria Rilke]

[morguefile]

Back in the sixties, a lot of people expressed an aching need to find themselves. There were plenty of self-proclaimed gurus around, too, who scrambled to serve as tour guides for anyone interested in taking an introspective trip or two. (Psychedelic drugs extra.)




Who am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle. [Lewis Carroll]

I never fooled around with all that navel-gazing stuff, because I was too busy doing what I had to do to wonder why I was doing it. Besides, I wouldn't have known what I was supposed to be looking for in there. Lint? The lost colonists of Roanoke? Some kinda weird voodoo vortex of self-validity? Yeah... lint.

It is necessary... for a man to go away by himself... to sit on a rock... and ask, 'Who am I, where have I been, and where am I going?'  [Carl Sandburg]

Maybe ol' Carl had it right. Maybe I should go into isolation and stare at my belly button for a while.

Nah. I can't go away... who'd clean the litter boxes? Besides, I kinda like hanging around with Smarticus, and ya know, sitting on a rock doesn't hold nearly as much appeal as it once did.

Oh, I'm so full of it. The truth is, the only thing I'm going away from for a while is... blogging. Just as I've done the past couple years, while a bunch of  you are participating in the A-Z challenge, I'm gonna be doing my thing... whatever the heck that may be. No sweat. I'll figure it out. Hopefully, I'll get some writing done, but there's no telling. The only thing I know for sure is I won't be paying any attention to my own belly button. (The poor neglected thing.) Maybe I'll just enjoy life, rearrange a dust bunny or two, and take time to admire every rainbow.

Writing is utter solitude, the descent into the cold abyss of oneself.  [Franz Kafka]

                                            Solitude?  Obviously, Kafka didn't have any cats.

Before I go, how about some stuff to tickle your brains and funny bones?

• A Buddhist monk walks up to a hot dog stand and tells the guy, "Make me one with everything."
• Did you hear about the paranoid dyslexic? He always felt like he was following someone.
• If it's zero degrees outside today, and it's supposed to be twice as cold tomorrow, how cold is it gonna be tomorrow?
• If a Jewish man marries a Catholic woman, what song should be played at their wedding? Simple... Oy Vey, Maria.
• The first testicular guard (AKA cup) was worn by players in a hockey game in 1874, but hockey players didn't start wearing a helmet until 1974. Can you believe that? It took 'em a full century to decide their brains might have some purpose, too.
• Have you ever wondered why people with closed minds open their mouths so much?
• It must be very difficult to explain puns to a kleptomaniac. They always take things literally.
• A Roman walks into a bar and raises two finger. "Five beers, please."
• Sartre was in a French cafe and asked for a cuppa coffee without cream. The waitress said, "I'm sorry; we don't have any cream. Can I make it without milk?"
• Know how to tell the difference between a plumber and a chemist? Ask them to pronounce unionized.
• A Higgs-Boson particle walked into a church, and the priest said, "Sorry, but we don't allow Higgs- Bosons in here." Puzzled, the particle says, "But without me, how can you have mass?"
• A programmer's wife says, "Run to the store and get a loaf of bread, and if they have eggs. get a dozen." He came back home with twelve loaves of bread.
• Did you hear about the jurisprudence fetishist? He got off on a technicality.

 All of you A-Zers, have lotsa fun with this year's challenge. I'll catch y'all on the other side of the rainbow.

                               Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.